Hong Kong feast that's a multi-layered experience

When I received an invitation from my employer, the Hong Kong Polytechnic University, to a "Poon Choi Staff Appreciation Dinner", I must admit I did not know quite what to expect.

The literal meaning of poon choi is "basin vegetable", though the looser translation of "big bowl feast" sounded slightly more appetising. They are a 600-year-old tradition in the New Territories of Hong Kong, used for wedding banquets or other celebrations.

I was inclined to turn it down, however, for several reasons: 1) poon choi dinners are outdoor events - this one was scheduled for a Friday evening in Hong Kong's winter and they can be chilly; 2) such functions usually involve long speeches in Chinese; 3) no alcohol is allowed; 4) and whole villages have sometimes been laid low by food poisoning through this particular cooking concept.

However, my Chinese colleagues were very excited by the prospect and urged me to give it a go. So I did.

There were 144 round tables with pink paper table cloths and a gas burner in the centre, on which was a massive metal basin with a makeshift tinfoil lid. Each table had 12 plastic stools.

Over 1,700 people surged forward to find the right table on the outdoor podium, according to an elaborate seating plan. My normally composed colleagues were shiny-eyed and giggly and there was a sense of collective anticipation.

The Vice-Chancellor gave a short speech to thank all his staff and then banged a large gong. The tinfoil lids were removed and clouds of meaty vapour billowed forth.

Poon choi is made up of many layers of different ingredients. In descending order, ours consisted of chicken, duck, abalone, pork, squid, fish maws, fish balls, mushrooms, bean curd, turnips and taro (a slimy variation of a sweet potato). A dozen glistening prawns had been arranged on top. Each ingredient had been cooked separately and thoroughly the previous day then carefully arranged in layers.

Etiquette demands that you reserve yourself to what is within easy reach, without stirring it all up. Another rule states that you should use special serving chopsticks when taking food from the communal bowl and use wooden chopsticks to put food in your mouth.

But, as someone pointed out, the former were made of plastic and would melt in the boiling broth, so we should use them in reverse. I think everyone muddled them up in the end.

The hot pot continued to bubble away and the juices from each part fused into a rich and meaty stock. As we worked our way down through the layers, the ingredients became more steeped in flavour.

We broke another rule by "fishing" down to the most succulent morsels at the bottom. Who would ever have believed a turnip could taste so delicious? The usual Chinese decorum was replaced by a free-for-all.

After an hour or so, I realised that our basin was still over half full, while other tables were beginning to pack up. Although we girls had eaten heartily, there were only three men on our table, one of whom was a vegetarian. Some basins had been abandoned and the heat turned off. The congealing lumps of meat looked a bit unappetising now.

We all ate far too much, but felt full and happy. I'm glad I went and my fears were unfounded. I didn't feel cold as the food was warming and we were in such high spirits through the communal experience that we didn't need alcohol.

There were no long speeches, but the message came through and I felt truly appreciated. And far from being poisoned, I had consumed enough protein and nutrients to last me a month. If only Western meals could be such fun.